


No Power? No Problem...

by Zombubble



Series: Moments Verse [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Actor Victor Nikiforov, Alternate Universe - Magic, Domestic, M/M, Power Outage, Storm - Freeform, Yuuri and Yura still skate, but he may as well, fear of storms, he doesn't actually, viktor turns into a stove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombubble/pseuds/Zombubble
Summary: A storm's knocked out half the electricity in St. Petersburg, and a family dinner turns into an indoor camping cookout.Makka eats tomorrow's salad.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Moments Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1003935
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	No Power? No Problem...

**Author's Note:**

> Viktor's an actor, visiting his hometown. Yuuri and Yuri are still the top skaters in their respective countries. 
> 
> This is just a moment.

Yuuri walks into his apartment in St. Petersburg and flips the light switch five times before he realizes the power’s out. Pulling out his phone, he turns on his flashlight. 

“Vitya?” he calls into the dark. “Yurio? Are you here?” He’d given them a key, what with Viktor staying over while he’s in Russia, and they were supposed to be getting started on the impromptu family dinner Viktor had suggested.

There’s a muffled thump, before a door opens. The hallway glows with reflected light, not unlike that bit with the balrog in Lord of the Rings, as the others make their way down. Yuuri unhooks Makka’s leash, letting her get reacclimated to the apartment on her own. Viktor and Yura walk in, Viktor holding a flame and glowing a bit brighter than usual.

“The power’s out, Lyubov,” Viktor says as he kisses Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri smirks. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“We tried to order dinner,” Viktor continues, ignoring Yuuri’s response, “but every place in a fifteen-kilometer radius is having issues, too. The rain’s pouring down and it’s likely to get worse.”

“I can figure something out,” Yuuri says. He grabs Viktor’s arm, pulling him towards the fridge. “We have sausages, we can roast them over your flames.” The fridge is opened, and Yuuri pulls Viktor closer, keeping his hand on his wrist as he moves the flame around to see what he’s doing. 

“I called your power company,” Viktor mentions. “Asked what was up, they’re having trouble with the… network. Grid. Thing. Some cables blew over.” 

Yuuri hums his thanks and nods. Ingredients are quickly located and pulled out, floating next to Yuuri as he sets them aside. Condiments, sausages, and the buns Yuuri’d gotten out all drift lazily towards the counter as he takes a final look, grabbing a can of Cherry Coke before closing the fridge.

Yuuri pulls a cookie sheet out of the cupboard and two roasting forks for Yura and Viktor, carrying them over to the low coffee table and setting them down. Soon enough, Viktor’s got a comfortably hot flame going. Yuuri pulls out sausages, dividing them evenly onto three plates. Setting a plate in front of each person, he holds out forks.

“Thank you, Lyubov,” Viktor says, spearing one of his sausages and holding it over the flame.

Yura does the same, before glancing over. “Oi, Katsudon,” he says, “you forgot your fucking fork.”

Grinning, Yuuri floats one of his sausages into the center of the flame, letting it rotate gently. “I don’t need one,” he says.

“Show-off.” Yura grumbles a bit before seeming to remember something. He sets his fork down, padding into the kitchen while holding his phone out for light. He reemerges holding a wire cooling rack, plopping down at the table with a grin. His hands let go of the rack, hovering to the sides while the metal slowly twists in the air. Bits of it melt into the frame, which lengthens at each corner until Yura’s holding what looks like a wire rack with very long legs. Its purpose becomes clear when he sets it over the flame, shooing Yuuri’s sausage away. Putting his own sausage on it, he crosses his arms and leans against an armchair.

“It’s a grill,” he says proudly.

Viktor leaves his sausage on the rack, setting his fork down, and Yuuri floats his, letting it come to rest in the center. A repetitive movement of his hand has the sausages rotating gently, cooking evenly in the flame and before long, the smell of roasting meat fills the apartment.

“It almost feels like we’re camping!” Viktor says cheerfully, leaning against the couch. He smiles, but his eyes remain fixed on the small fire as he regulates its size and temperature carefully.

Yuuri can’t help but grin. “Kinda, yeah. We should camp for real sometime. Phichit and I did that in the States a few times, it was interesting, to say the least.”

“What, like in a fucking tent and shit?”

“Yup,” Yuuri says cheerfully. “We roasted marshmallows, made those s’mores things Americans are so in love with.”

“Are they good?” Yura asks, curious. He’s leaning forward now, with his legs crossed under him.

“Really sweet,” Yuuri responds, “but yeah. I liked them.”

“We should make them tonight!” Viktor exclaims, and the flames flicker just a bit brighter for a second.

“We don’t have the stuff, Vitya.” For a brief instant, the fire burns low but comes back in full force when Yuuri continues. “We can get it though and try it later, if you like? I think you’d enjoy them.”

In the dim light, Yuuri sees Viktor smirk. “I’ve tried them,” he says. “You don’t film on location in the American wilderness with a bunch of, well, Americans, without having an American-style campout.”

“Must have sucked,” Yura says, flattening out one of the metal marbles he keeps in his pocket. “Without all the...  _ comforts of home,” _ he finishes in Russian.  _ “You know, being able to take a shit indoors and a fucking shower.” _

“Yura,” Viktor warns. “I know it’s nothing important but we need to stick to English for Yuuri!”

Yura snorts, glancing over as Yuuri slowly takes a sip of his soda. Leaning forward, Yuuri flips the sausages around.  _ “I understood him just fine,” _ he says in halting Russian. The words are still awkward, rolling strangely through his throat and across his tongue, but he knows he was understood.

“Still, it’s easier for us to speak English,” Viktor replies, switching back.

“Yeah, but switching when you don’t know the English is fine. Makes  _ everything _ easier.”

“Fuck yeah it does,” Yura grumbles, poking at his sausage. “Fuckin’ sucked more when you didn’t speak any Russian.”

“Yura!” Viktor admonishes his little cousin.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri replies. “I’ll remember that the next time we’re in Japan.” Yura’s mouth goes wide, his expression shocked as he no doubt remembers dragging Yuuri across Tokyo trying to find a specific collectible cat. He’d paid for lunch and snacks as a grudging thank you (though officially it was to pay Yuuri back for that time he’d bought the teen’s lunch when he’d forgotten his wallet,) but at the time Yuuri’s head had spun from constantly going from English to Japanese and back again.

Spearing his sausage, Yura puts it on a paper plate and slices it open. “They’re done,” he declares, plopping it into the bun like it’s a makeshift hot dog. Viktor and Yuuri follow suit, both significantly more graceful by virtue of their gifts. As Yuuri lifts his own out of the fire and brings it gently to rest in his bun, Viktor purses his lips.

“What about mine?” he asks, pouting.

Merely raising an eyebrow, Yuuri glances down at Viktor’s hands and back up. “You have functioning hands,” he says as he starts adding condiments.

Viktor scoffs and rolls his eyes— dramatically, yes, but it fits— reaching into the self-made fire to pull out his food.

~*~

They end up with another round of sausages grilling over Viktor’s careful flame. Growing up with fire magic still hasn’t dulled the thrill he gets cooking over it and Viktor smiles. Yura is in the kitchen, looking through the fridge for anything else that can conceivably be heated or made better over a fire while Yuuri snuggles close. Viktor lets his body heat radiate through the blanket Yuuri’s thrown on his lap, kissing his cheek with a smile. There’s a rumbling sound in the distance as thunder draws near, and Yura comes scurrying back over, arms full of a variety of foods he’d grabbed from the fridge. He’s never liked storms, and according to Uncle Nikolai still gets skittish. 

“Yura,” Viktor says, “what are you doing?”

“I have a fire, I’m gonna roast shit on it.” Yura spreads his prizes across the table, staring at them contemplatively.

“Yura?” Yuuri says as he leans forward.

“What?”

“Is that… an entire block of cheese?” 

Squinting, Viktor can barely make out the lettering on the sides. “Yes,” he says. “And a head of lettuce? Yura.”

“What?!” Spearing the lettuce on his fork, Yura jumps as thunder claps nearby, dropping the lettuce to the ground. “Fuck,” he mutters as it rolls across the floor. Makkachin noses lazily at it before taking a bite and Viktor sighs. There goes tomorrow’s salad, unless he’s magically able to procure lettuce somehow.

“Hey, asshole!”

Viktor looks up, and Yura’s angrily gesturing at the small flame flickering faintly on the cookie sheet. A small brush of power brings it back to full force. He feels a hand on his back, Yuuri rubbing it in silent thanks for expending so much energy. In response, Viktor warms just a small pocket of air next to Yuuri’s cheek, his way of kissing him without needing to move or take his eyes off what he’s doing. There’s a small nudge along his own cheek in response, and he grins.

At this point, Yura has two small pieces of cheese skewered on Viktor’s fork, and is holding them above the flames.

“Are you literally trying to  _ grill _ cheese?” Yuuri asks in disbelief.

“Katsudon I know how to grill fucking cheese this is roasting it over a fire which I do  _ not _ get to do often so shut the fuck up and let me cook.”

“It’ll melt off your fork either way,” Yuuri mutters, settling into Viktor’s side.

Yura just flips him the bird, turning his cheese delicately. It’s only a few more seconds before he’s shoving it in his mouth with glee. Scanning his eyes over the foods in front of him, Yura smiles. An attempt at roasting garlic leads to the dry skin catching fire, olives just get soft and start oozing. Pickled daikon radish Yuuri keeps for garnish just sizzles until dry spots appear. Yura shoves it in his mouth anyway, grimacing at the chewier texture. He’s keeping himself distracted, Viktor notices, but each clap of thunder causes him to pull closer to the table, to focus more on his inane busywork in an attempt to ignore the storm outside.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines, draping himself over his boyfriend.

“What?” Yuuri kisses his nose before scowling at him.

“I want tea.”

“You know where I keep my tea. I have a stovetop kettle up in the cupboard. I’ll float it down and you can fill it with water.”

“Why am  _ I _ the one getting the tea stuff?”

“Because my cellphone battery can die and your flames won’t.”

It’s a good enough reason, and Viktor grudgingly stands to get everything. They get everyone’s choices figured out between Yuuri rattling off the teas he has from memory and Viktor filling in the gaps, and it’s just a few minutes before Viktor’s carrying two of the mugs and the teabags, Yuuri floating the kettle and other mug over. The mug comes to rest on the table, the kettle comes to rest on Yura’s improvised grill, and Viktor comes back over to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder where he belongs.

Yura’s still nervous, still pulling into himself, and Viktor sighs. “You know, Yura,” he says, “back health is very important, especially for all that jumping you do. You can’t land a quintuple sal-something if your back is injured.” 

Yuuri snorts next to him, but Yura just looks to the side.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, but he’s quiet. Nervous.

“Yurotchka,” Viktor says in his most annoyingly kind big-cousin voice, “I’m leaving for LA in two days and you have practice both of them! I want to spend time with you! Come sit over here while we have some tea. It’ll be warmer.”

Yura makes a show of rolling his eyes, before crawling underneath Yuuri’s coffee table and settling himself between them. “If you two start making disgusting faces and shit over my head I’ll kick you both,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. Which is to say, not much.

The water boils, the herbal tea steeps, and Yura entertains himself with the metal marbles he carries around, rolling them through the air and shifting their shapes at will. They share a cup of tea, and a quiet moment, and the next thing Viktor knows, Yura’s dozing gently on his shoulder.

Yuuri looks over to say something, but Viktor points at his little cousin and Yuuri smiles. Gently, Yuuri floats Yura a few inches off the ground, giving Viktor room to get up and put a pillow on the couch. Maneuvering Yura slowly, Yuuri gets him situated on the couch, helping Viktor tuck him in. As they go to head to the bedroom, Makka plods after them before stopping at the end of the hall. When Viktor looks back, she’s climbing on the couch, draping herself across Yura as he sleeps.

He and Yuuri share a smile. Makka’s a cuddler, and she has a knack for knowing who needs it most, so they leave her be. Their bedroom door is left cracked, just in case, but they huddle under the covers and let the sound of the rain ease them into sleep.

~*~

Yuri wakes to the sun in his eyes, a dog breathing on his face, and hushed mushy whispers coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. The smell of coffee and pancakes wafts through the air, and when he stirs, Makkachin lifts her head. He gives her a scratch. Several times over the course of the night he’d been woken up by thunder, once by lightning, and as terrifying as the storm was, there was a comfort in the weight of Makkachin on his chest and her constant warmth overnight.

She crawls off him when he moves to sit up, and there’s a moment of silence before Viktor comes smiling over. 

“Yurotchka!  _ Dobroye utro!!” _ He exclaims, and  _ god, _ Yuri wishes he’d cut it out with the cutesy shit.

“The fuck do you want?” he replies.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, I guess.”

Katsudon cheerfully presses the button on the electric kettle before flipping the pancakes in his pan. “There’s food if you like,” he says. “If you’d rather something fresh off the griddle, you can wait until these are done.”

Yuri decides to wait, taking the opportunity to brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush Viktor swears they had by accident. (“It’s from Makkachin’s vet, too tough for her sensitive gums,” he claims, though why a vet would be giving out leopard print human toothbrushes is beyond his ability to explain. Yuri appreciates the gesture, though he’d never actually admit it.)

When he finally seats himself at the dining room table a steaming plate of pancakes deposits itself in front of him. Butter moves closer, and the fruit and maple syrups Katsudon likes are gently nudged in his direction, coming to rest inches from his left hand. Viktor himself sets a mug of tea down in front of Yuri, ruffling his hair as he does so.

_ “Someone _ was sleepy last night,” he says with that ridiculous smile, and Yuri scoffs.

“That or you were just so fucking boring I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

Viktor makes some sort of exaggerated expression of understanding, throwing his head back and resting the back of his hand on his forehead. “Of course,” he says, “I never realized. It’s because I’m just boring. Do you hear that, Lyubov?”

“Hear what?” Katsudon flips another pancake as he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“The only reason Yura fell asleep last night was because we were so boring.”

“I see,” he says, serving the last of the pancakes and sending the plates towards the table. “We should try to be even more boring to get some peace and quiet when he’s over.”

Viktor laughs. Yuri debates kicking him, but decides against it as he puts butter on his pancakes. He wishes they were blini, but Katsudon’s pretty much mastered the art of a delicately fluffy pancake so he’s not going to complain.

“Was Makkachin with me all night?” He asks before he can stop himself.

Thankfully, it’s Katsudon that answers. “Yeah,” he says as he takes his seat, his coffee floating gently next to him until he plucks it out of the air. “She didn't want to come to bed with us, we figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Probably wanted some decent company for once,” he mutters as the older men take their seats. “Practice cancelled?” The sun is far too low in the sky for them to be on time to any sort of practice, and Katsudon isn't the type to miss, even  _ if _ Viktor’s out here.

“Rink had some issues overnight so we’re not skating, but Yakov wants us at the studio this afternoon.” Slicing into his pancakes, Katsudon smiles at him. “We can go get food tonight if you want, your favorite restaurant. I'll foot the bill.”

Katsudon takes after his mother. When he wants to make someone feel better, he feeds them, which is likely why they’re having a breakfast that would send not only Yakov but Lilia as well into one of their joint lectures. Yuri smiles, hiding his face behind his hair. Over his head, grins are exchanged, nods of approval and satisfaction. Yuri feels the tension ebb out of his shoulders, residual nerves from last night’s storm fading, buried under laughter as Makkachin makes off with one of the unsupervised pancakes left conveniently close to the edge of the table. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my drafts folder for ages, and only now am getting around to clearing it out and publishing a few things. This series is a bit out of order, but until I can get my stuff together and make it into the (comic) story I want, it'll have to do lol. I love this sandbox and playing in this sandbox, and am hoping to get back into the swing of writing again.
> 
> As for the title, that's what it's been named in my drafts and I can't think of anything else, lol. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
